


Black In the Lungs

by ItsSpicyTuna



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abandonment, Abandonment Issues, Angst, Astrology, Crying, Emotional/Hurt Comfort, Eventual Smut, Gore, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Motorcycle Crash, OCD!Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes, Physical hurt/comfort, Trust Issues, deep talks, i’ll tag as i go, mention of amputation, ocd mention, ranting, star signs, venting, virgin!Junkrat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-08 00:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13446300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsSpicyTuna/pseuds/ItsSpicyTuna
Summary: When Jamison Fawkes’s mother abandoned him with no reasoning, he goes on surviving with questions without any answers. Until he teams up with Mako Rutledge.





	1. Reasoning

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there! This is the first fic I’ve written since joining this fandom so uh- yeah. Feel free to say hi, leave a comment, or even a kudos if you’re feeling generous! As I said, I’ll tag as I’ll come go along, please notify me if I forgot to tag anything tag worthy (?) Anyway- thank you for reading and enjoy!

July 24th, 2059

The pit in her stomach drew tighter as her hands trembled while they quietly turned the doorknob. A small click accompanied by the slide of the door across soft carpeting seemed to be the only noise emitting from the room. Her eyes peered through the small gap in the door, the sight of her small child peacefully sleeping illuminated by the light of the stars and the moon, the some ones they looked at the nights before, curled up in the cocoon of blankets.

As her gaze fell over her son, memories of when she first held him, exhausted eyes looking into fresh ones, the reality settling into her bones that she was looking into her own eyes. All of the times she’d promise to protect him, to feed and shelter him, her own blood.

At this memory, the pit had devoured her whole, feeling the dread wash over her as tears welled up and fell silently onto the carpet. She composed herself quickly wiping her eyes and taking a silent breath before slipping into the room. Her muted footsteps drew closer to the child, taking in all the memories saturating her conscious. She knelt down beside him quietly, watching him dream without a sound. A black-ringed hand gently swept thought soft blond locks on the child’s head.

“I’m sorry, my sunshine.” She said, voice weakening as the tears returned. If she had another choice, she would stay. He would wake up that morning and run into her arms, cling to her they way he always does. He would go to bed that night, asking for a song. And when she finished singing, he would ask again. And she would tell him this is the last time. He would grow up loved, protected and sheltered. He’d grow up with a mother.

Only if.

She pressed her lips softly to his forehead, running a soothing hand over his curly locks, seeing her son for the last time.

She began to hum the song to him, her voice steady and cautious.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy,”

The blare of the town fire siren interrupted, causing her to look out of the window blankly. Her eyes darted back to the child, studying his soft face, the heat returned to her face, eyes welling up once more.

“When skies are grey. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you.”

She knew she had to go now. She was running out of time.

“Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

As she finished the last few words, her voice gave out, her throat aching from holding back sobs.

But it was better for her this way.

It was better for him this way.

She left the room, hushing her movements and not looking back. Her face grew stone cold, grabbing the sturdy duffel bag full of her most necessary things. Creeping down the stairs, she eyed the pictures of a family that once was. The picture of her husband remained face down, glass still broken out of lies and anger.

She didn’t have any room for them, she no longer had room for regrets, even though they ate away at her the same way a pack of hungry coyotes tear apart their prey limb from limb. Her thoughts and heart raced until her eyes were snagged on the picture taken recently.

It was the two of them the night she taught him about the stars. His face looked so happy, and so did hers. Perhaps, that was the last time they’d feel that happiness ever again.

She placed a small black plastic ziploc bag on the counter in the small kitchen and left a small note on it. Once she left the room, her head cleared. All she needed to do was leave.

The world was lonely that night. It turned its back on her, silencing the critters who normally sung proudly for those who didn’t sleep. The night shamed her, the moon and stars dulled by the fat lazy clouds dragging themselves across the sky.

She exited the house and entered the car without a noise.

“Remember what I taught you, Jamie.” She whispered in the direction of where his room was in the house. She backed out of the driveway and sped down the street.

And like that, he was alone in the world.


	2. Reactionary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence and gore in this chapter! Thank you ou for reading!

December 12th 2080

“Take that ya bloody drongos!” He screeched maniacally as he detonated the grenades at the entrance, drawing horrid screams and splats of burnt flesh to fly every which way.

“Ah, me favorite smell.” He sighed as he comically wafted gunpowder filled the air and exhaled with a smile.

That smile faded very quickly once he felt a rough hand twist his arm up and behind his back, crashing into one of his riptire spikes, earning a harsh yelp from the Junker. His frag launcher was kicked out of his hand as he saw more gang members approach him. A harsh metallic snapping and twisting noise accompanied by a shoulder-dislocating yank to his right arm, causing a horrifying screech, his right arm feeling considerably lighter and his left ignited in pain as the nerve endings straddled the connection, combined with the dead weight of metal joints. The grip on his arm only got tighter, and without his mechanical arm, he couldn’t punch the fuckers in the face, more or less itch his own nose. He could feel what he hoped to be blood drip down his left arm and hit the dirt with muted splats.

  
“Now, ya little piece of rubbish thought you could make a quick escape this time, did ya?” A hot breath pressed itself against Jamison’s neck. One of the larger gang members made her way toward Jamison, an electrode stick in her hand, ready to shock.

“Lemme guess, the queen sent ya? She’s obsessed with me I swear!” Jamison joked to the slightly smaller gang member next to the larger member, his pin with two nails and a skull reflecting off of the bright Australian sun and into Jamison’s eyes.

The female gang member swaggered closer to Jamison and grabbed his face with her sturdy and calloused hand, the other holding the stick brought close to his neck.

“We’re gonna give you one last chance, Jamison. Where is it?” She growled through yellow teeth.

“Ya mongrils can do whatever you want to me, but the only thing that ya gonna get out of this mouth is this!” Jamison hollered dramatically and spat a fat loogie right in her face. As she stepped back with a hissing wince, Jamison kicked his peg leg back in to the crotch of the gang member behind him, feeling his grip release and fly right to his groin and toppling over.

He plucked his impaled arm from the spike with a harsh wince, but it wasn’t as bad as losing another arm or leg. As he freed his arm, a brain rattling fist from the smaller member collided with his jaw, knocking him back with a bleeding lip.

“Ya little piece of...” the larger member spat as she rammed the electrode stick to Jamison’s neck, pulling the trigger and watching the end glow a fluorescent blue and holding it to his skin. In that second, an immense pain shot through every muscle in his body, forcing out an unfiltered screech, his muscles cramping horridly and his body losing all control, feeing the similar sharp white heat of burns across his skin as he thrashed in the dirt.

Then it stopped.

The loud bang of what sounded like an explosion rang him back to consciousness. When he looked up, he saw the blurry image of the female member fall to the ground, her lower half of her face mangled and bloody with steaming shrapnel sticking every which way, and the upper half of her head strewn across the dirt. In a second, she turned to nothing more than a slab of meat, no different than venison. The second smaller member let out a plead for his life, which failed as he tripped over the female member. Just as he looked up, a spiked boot replaced the space where his head was with a stomp and a wet splat, like squishing a grape. Another explosion.

The third member was most likely dead, due to the location of where the bang was emitted and another loud splat against the dirt.

He looked up and the familiar large silhouette of Roadhog blocked the harsh sun from his eyes.


	3. Adrenaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skeet skeet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapter updates are gonna be HELLA in even in both length and upload date so just like  
> Bare with me my guys
> 
> Also I tried my best to write some action so if it sucks Im sorry 
> 
> Yeet

* * *

“Nice of you to show up Hogwarts,” Junkrat groaned as he was lifted up by large hands. His slender frame fit in Roadhog’s like a doll. His muscles still cramped on and off uncomfortably and his skin stung with open smoldering sores.

“Shut up.” Grumbled Roadhog as he set Jamison in the sidecar, which was conveniently parked in the depths of an alleyway behind an old stationary shop. He could hear the familiar click-turned-hiss as Junkrat disconnected his mechanical arm, and placing it in a satchel at the back fo the hog.

Roadhog was in the middle of retrieving his boss’s frag launcher when the sirens blasted through their thoughts. Hog shoved the weapon in Rat’s hand and straddled the seat and sped off, not giving any warning for the loud stuttering engine.

“‘Only got so long before they’ll be onto us.” Hog said half joking, handing his boss a ‘clean’ rag to wrap around his arm. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. That was when he remembered, he only had one arm at his disposal. He’s just gonna have to wait.

The wind and dust kicked up behind them as they dodged and ducked through the innards of Junkertown, and not before long, other motorcycle engines similarly sputtered and choked behind them, bullets whirring around them.

Shit.

Clinks and dings jumped through the deafening roar of the engine, Roadhog focusing on trying to make it out alive and ignoring the stings of the bullets entering his back and arms. The familiar sparks of pain warming his back with every jostle and bump.

“Get ‘em off our tail, Rat!” He boomed, rounding a sharp corner and tilting the bike harshly.

Junkrat gladly complied, dropping his last concussion mine on the dirt road and watching it zoom away, then quickly firing as many bombs as he could until he ran out, he couldn’t reload with one hand.

When the bulk of the gang was close to it, he smashed the button, hearing the car alarm, watching bodies and metal soar, landing on the rolling bombs, finishing the job.

Not bad for one arm.

Another engine seemed to home in on them, maybe he hadn’t gotten them all?

Roadhog looked behind them quickly, his booted foot pushing down on the gas, and dodging various cars and pedestrians that littered the surprisingly busy streets.

Junkrat wasn’t the only one who had bombs.

The bike behind them creeped up, not risking throwing direct explosives that might fly back and hit them instead.

Instead, a sticky beeping pulse bomb was chucked at them, landing right on the underside of the connection to the sidecar.

“Lose, em, Hogsworth!” Junkrat hissed, trying to pry off the latch to get to the wires with his fingers as the beeping quickened.

Roadhog bore down on the gas, and eyed the nearest dead end.

“Hold on, Rat!” He yelled as he tilted the bike towards the left and veered into the wide alley, that ended with a thick brick wall divider, the other bike almost nipping their tail end.

“What are you doing!”

“Just trust me!”

The pulse bomb was screeching, strobing red light onto the ground. At that very moment, Roadhog slammed the breaks and thrust the bike to the side, causing it to spin around, just out of line of fire of the bike, a few yards from the brick wall, one hand went to pulling Junkrat out of the side car, holding him close to his chest and turning away from the bomb, the other snatched his scrap gun, and firing it directly toward the biker behind them, piercing them right in the head.

Junkrat felt a protective arm wrap around him and shove him close. He looked up, seeing the bottom of the homemade pig mask, a few white whiskers hinting at a beard poking out from behind the leather. The pungent smell of sweat and lack of a shower filled his nose. The leather on the mask was ignited from the flash of Roadhogs scrap gun, feeling the recoil from the shot echo through his body and into Jamison. His heart stopped and breath hitched as Roadhog tumbled to the ground with him contained in his arms.

Everything went silent.

Instantly, the biker crashed at full speed with the brick wall that capped off the wide alley with a roar of gasoline exploding and twisting metal. The pulse bomb had gone off right before the crash, blowing off a good chunk of Roadhogs bike and digging it into it’s owners back.

He was on the ground, all feeling gone in his back when he breathed, his arms, bloody and bruised, were tightly wrapped around a body. He looked down and saw his boss, unconscious. His first thought was if he had accidentally smothered him to death.

Junkrat awoke with a jolt, inhaled sharply, filling his lungs with soot and smoke littered air and coughing through a few breaths. His (remaining) limbs were sore and beginning to bruise, only slightly crushed by Roadhogs tight grasp. Thats when he realized. Roadhogs scent enveloped him once more. Adrenaline shook him to the core, his skin pulling against the others.

Roadhog helped the young man up with a groan, looking at his bike. He was surprised to see that the motor and engine were still there, but the pedals and decorative leather had been singed straight off. Not to mention, the only pieces left of the side car had been lodged into Roadhogs flesh.

“We gotta scram.” Roadhog grunted, dusting off what was left of his bike and revving the   
engine, hearing a few suspicious rattles, but nothing too life threatening. He carefully let Junkrat sit in front of him, fearing that he would fall off the back end and bang himself up more so.

Adrenaline and burning gasoline filled the air. Both of their heart raced, the thrill of explosions and being chased pinned through their beings.

They rode quickly and carefully, taking the shortest route out of town as possible, and onto the next one.

What he had done replayed in his mind. His bosses shrills rang over and over as he absentmindedly steered them away from Junkertown.

“What are you doing?”

“Just trust me.”


	4. Collateral

Later that night, they stumbled into the abandoned motel, the stale air like cotton in their noses. Junkrat made sure to let Roadhog know that the dark long hallways creeped him out. The first room the saw that wasn’t trashed to heavens high was immediately chosen. Surprisingly, this place still had electricity.

Various clinks and chortles from harnesses being undone and straps being loosened. Sore wounds protested loudly against each movement as both men sat at the end of each bed, overused springs announcing their use as they shifted, removing their armor and weapons to assess the damage, quite literally.

Junkrat wasn’t too bad, besides the gash in his arm. When Roadhog twisted to unhinge his hook spindle from his belt loops, the reddened bloody and burnt mess of what was his back came into view, being previously hidden by his harness.

“Hog, why didn’t you say somethin!?” Jamie spat up, quickly retrieving the makeshift first aid pack they’d made out of what they had found during raids. It mostly consisted of mis-matched band aids from different brands, including some super hero and dinosaur ones, which barely stuck to their skin, but Jamie loved, a spool of green silk thread and a sewing needle, some baby wipes and a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide the had recently picked up at their last abandoned house-turned-hideout.

“They really banged ya up real good, didn’t they? Ya look like a sponge!” Junkrat joked, admiring the several wounds that littered Roadhogs back and arms.

He was no expert but he knew that having open wounds for a long amount of time was bad. He opened the small ugly red fanny pack clumsily and paused, not quite sure what he was looking for.

Roadhog grunted, wondering what the holdup was. It was usually the other way around, due to junkrat getting cocky and biting off more than he can chew and ending up with a few new scars or a broken prosthetic.

“Little Brown bottle. Pour it over the wounds.” Hog sighed with as much patience he could scrape up.

“This one? Isn’t this that heal-y stuff?” Jamie asked looking at the little plastic bottle and sniffing it. His curiosity got the best of him when he put the bottle to his lips, the rough plastic rim rough on his lip.

Thankful that he had spent enough time with this idiot that he saw it coming, Roadhog quickly turned around and snatched the bottle from his soot-stained fingers and glared at him.

“Idiot.”

His arm was enveloped by a large hand, what he thought were minor scrapes singing in pain as it was yanked forward, leading him to stand between his bodyguards legs. Junkrat was now facing Roadhog, face to face with the pig mask. The bottle looked comically small compared to Roadhogs hand. Junkrat watched with bewilderment as roadhog poured the liquid onto the gash in his arm, hissing as he felt the tingle and sting of the bubbles on his skin, watching the liquid flush out whatever debris and dirt had managed to get lodged in there and drip down onto the carpet with a small *splud*. A small square of linen, possibly was a fabric swatch at some point, was used as a makeshift gauze and gingerly placed over the wound to mop up any fresh blood that has risen to the surface.

Jamie’s eyes studied the mask before, trying to peer through the tinted glass of the eyes and see who, or what lurked beneath. It certainly wasn’t the same person who had saved him earlier. He saw the occasional dart of an eye or twitch of an eyebrow below the glass, almost like an animal in a cage.

Muffled grunts and huffs trapped between a face and a mask absentmindedly slipped out as he worked, trying his best to not irritate the wound on his bosses arm more than necessary. It looked deep, down to the muscle. He remembers hearing something about stitching up a deep wound, trying to recall if you should to prevent infection, or if you shouldn’t because it’ll create a breeding ground for bacteria and fill up with pus.

Oh well.   
He turned around and fished out the thread and needle out of the red fanny pack, then returning to rats wounded arm.

“Pay attention.”

“Right.”

As delicately as he could possibly be, he threaded the needle, looping it around and pulling a knot at the end of thread. He steadied his hand, and then steadied his grip on junkrats arm.

“This’ll hurt.”

Junkrat clenched his teeth in pain and watched carefully as roadhog pushed the needle through the skin, and pulling it out of the inner edge of the gash, watching the bright green thread turn a muddy brown once it passed through the flesh He carefully inserted the needle across from the first stitch, and pulling up through the skin.

Junkrat absolutely hated the feeling of the stitches being pulled tightly through his flesh, but despite how much he wanted to look away and vomit, he kept watching as roadhog sew up his arm like atop in a shirt.

When he had finished, hogs hands were tinged a light brown-red from drying blood, the needle not looking too much better.

“You got it?” Hog asked.

“We’re about to find out.” Junkrat said as he crawled back onto the bed behind roadhog. “Think ya could sew me a new pair of shorts mate?” Junkrat joked, admiring his handiwork, the contrast of the now dark green thread of the pale irritated skin.

“Too bad we don’t have a cone to put on your head.” Roadhog chuckled to himself, handing junkrat the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and another patch of fabric to wipe the needle on.

He managed to pull out the bullets that had penetrated hogs back and arm, and dislodged metal debris from the explosion. Thankfully, they hadn’t gone very deep, only a few centimeters. The man was built like house.   
Once the wounds were clean enough, junkrat mediocrely stitched them up.

“Hey, hoggy?” Junkrat asked as he was treating a large burn between Roadhogs shoulder blades.

“Hm?” Roadhog grunted.

“Thank you, for uh, savin me skin, back there, twice.”  
Junkrat mentioned, wiping away soot and dried blood. “I though for sure we were gonna be toast.”

Although he had just recently paired up with the mercenary, one would think that he could rest easy knowing someone’s got his back. Quite the contrary, he was still getting used to being apart of a team. There was still that spark of belief that he dug into himself a long time ago. Don’t trust anyone. They’ll only leave you. Just like she did.

“‘S my job to keep you safe.” Roadhog responded.

Both of their thoughts immediately shot to why he was here. Junkrat knew roadhog wanted to ask but know that he wasn’t trusted enough with that big of a secret. Junkrat had promised to give roadhog a part of his treasure if he acted as his bodyguard. But the thought in both of their minds leaves a different aftertaste.

Roadhog wondered what or even who the treasure is. It could be an abundance of money, or rare artifacts. But what would money or artifacts be doing in the omnium wreckage? Who knows.

Junkrat thought about how he could share his findings with roadhog as he worked. His mind wandered to his mother, the night before she left. Then he thought about the small plastic ziploc bag secretly sewn into the bottom of his satchel.


	5. New Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What even is an upload schedule idk

“Come in.” She sighed, organizing the papers on her desk. A small figure popped into the doorframe, a round covered by thick rimmed glasses and a shaven head.

“It’s time for the meeting, Ma’am” Berkeley said, still not getting used to having to approach his higher ups directly. He was everybody’s little brother. The guy you pull harmless pranks on and whose hair got ruffled when it was a little long.

“Thank you Berkeley,” she said as she scanned over her desk, looking for the schedule to check it one more time.

“Oh and Berkeley?” She asked, hoping to gain his attention.

“Yes ma’am?” He said, already nervous about what she was going to say.

“You don’t have to call me ma’am. You’ve earned your position, no need to kiss asses anymore.” She said with a smile. “Feel free to call me Emily.”

“Yes ma’am! Er, Emily!” He said, sputtering what was supposed to be a sentence. He scurried out the door, being careful to shut it silently, causing her to chuckle out of amusement.

She checked her wrist for the time, the minuet hand almost reaching the four. She better get going. With another sigh, she stood up, smoothing her clothes with clammy and nervous hands. Her lightly heeled boots clacked against the linoleum floors of the empty tan office hallways, supposing all of the staff would be in the commons area of the base.

She turned the corner into the large commons area, familiar faces of colleagues, employers, and members greeting her with expecting and nervous looks.

A few whispers jumped between figures, questioning what this meeting would be about.

She stood at the front of the room, along with the other head members, and quickly gained everyone’s attention with a slight clearing of her throat.

“Good afternoon everyone. I’m assuming you all are wondering why you were called down to this meeting today.” She stated clearly, her gaze shifting from one person to another.

“I regret to inform you that we were almost caught last mission. We can not let that happen again. The feds are right up our ass now that they’ve found us out. It’s all or nothing.”

Their faces look guilty as she preached, as if all of them were suddenly realizing every mistake they’ve made on the last mission.

“There is only one way to solve this. I will pull the best from the best, and they will organize teams of 6 on this next mission. Check your tablets at your desk for the further instructions given by your team leaders. You will listen to them and do what they say, and nothing other than that, do you read me?” She announced rather strictly.

Frantic nods were elicited from the crowd as well as a few “Yes ma’am”s. She pulled out a piece of paper from one of the folders on the desk next to her.

“These are your new team leaders for this mission. As I call your name, please come up to the front of the room. Beatrice LaMois.”

After she announced the first name, all eyes scanned the room and landed on Beatrice. She was a very tall and thin young woman with sunken cheekbones and thick hair pulled loosely into a pony tail. Her looks deceived her, rumors had it that she took down 3 heavyweights in the hand to hand combat training program.

She stood up and joined the small group of people at the front of the room proudly.

“Andy Deassick.”

The poor kid looked sick with fear as soon as he heard his name called. His looks were about the opposite of his talents. He was very muscular, but about 5’5. He had just had his 21st birthday, making him the youngest member so far. He had exceeded in the digital programming and manipulating software training program, giving him a very high intelligence score for the team leader, albeit his first choosing. He anxiously stood up, eyes following him to the growing group at the front of the room.

“Valarie Kaluna.”

As soon as her name was called, a strongly built woman stood up, around the age of 28. Her curly dark hair framed her naturally tanned skin. She had apparently never said a word since she had joined. Despite her silent-disposition, she knew every shortcut nook and cranny of everywhere. She also happened to be the teams best engineering overseer, able to designs various gadgets and gizmos for every need. Like a human Swiss Army knife. She quickly joined the group, winking at Beatrice, causing Beatrice to flush.

“Mako Rutledge.”

The room went silent. Mako stood up, his massive frame moving past the crowd, with little difficulty. His large muscles and scarred face didn’t help with his ability fit in very smoothly. When Emily had noticed his struggle connecting and talking with other members, she had taken him under her wing and given him a boost, creating a strong between the two. He joined the other team leaders next to Emily, flashing her a quick confident smile, Emily soon returning the emotion with a quick wink.

“These are your team leaders. You will treat them as your superiors and nothing less. Understood?”

The entire floor replied with a unified “Yes ma’am.”

“I know due to our loss of the last mission, our hopes are down. Let me remind you who we are. We are not just some bozos in the outback letting with the government. We are the Australian Liberation Front. And we will not rest until we get our freedom.”

Cheers and exited yells exploded as their hopes were restored. They were soon quieted by Emily’s hand.

“Mission details and team assignments are on your tablets on your stations desk. If you have any questions, ask your team leader. Dismissed.”

As soon as the meeting had dispatched, Mali had approached Emily, slightly worried. They both knew what was going to be brought up, avoiding the topic with meaningless chitchat about the meaning and this missions choosing.

They both waited until they were in the safety of the office to spill. Emily silently shut the door behind her, knowing what was about to happen. As she turned to mako, she saw his face turn stone cold.

“You said you wouldn’t.”

“There is no other way. It’s either this or we get gutted like fish.”

“Can’t we join up with Marcus?”

“That’s not an option.” She stated grimly.

Silence hung between them, heavy and hurtful.

“This is suicide. We cant lose another team after what happened last time.”

“That wasn’t on me! It’s not my fault they got caught and we missed!” She screeched unwillingly.

Mako looked at her, seeing something he hadn’t seen before. She took a shaky breath and steadied herself.

“They have my family in the line of fire. We fuck up, they’re gone. I can’t lose another one.”

Wait. Family? That meant more than a husband, right? He knew that she didn’t have any aunts or uncles. She had told him what had happened to her parents when she was young. Hung by los muertos on a mission.

“Family?” Mako questioned, extremely confused.

Emily pulled out a picture of her family from her desk and handed it to him, proving her point.

It was her, blonde hair past her shoulders with a very tall man with dark brown hair and pale skin. Freckles dotted his cheeks and thick eyebrows framed bright green eyes.

In her arms, an infant with bright eyes, matching her own. When did that happen?

Makos heart sunk. This was really it. The plan to infiltrate the omnium core and wire the hard drive to the entire system was a pipe dream. But they could do it, they had the brains and the numbers.

He clenched his fists, thinking through the plan once more.

“How are we gonna do this?” His authority coming in to play.

“While Marcus was still here, I had his team run a few scope out missions to prep. That was what code:rosewell was about. Well, during his mission, he obtained a copy of the files from the core.”

She placed a small black ziploc bag on the desk.

“Those files could fuck them up so horrifyingly well. We don’t know what is contained in the files, but Marcus swore he found it under the documents of the plans for continuing to upgrade. We didn’t open it, in case it was virus ridden or tracked via the system.”

“Big stuff.” He scoffed.

“They’ve hurt us enough. Time to finish what they started.”


	6. Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What? I can’t hear you, a bomb just dropped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see, I’ve been ill with the flu, and my schedule has changed so I haven’t had any time to churn out shapers as quickly so I apologize for future fucked up uploads, all in all, don’t expect a set schedule for new chapters. It’s uploaded when it’s uploaded basically, so yeah. That’s what’s me new, also, happy late Valentine’s Day everyone!!

> They wiped whatever they could off with the baby wipes left, and set out their plans for the next day.
> 
> “Alroight, here’s th’ plan hog face,” Junkrat tittered as he gathered his things in order for a quick up-and-go tomorrow.
> 
> “We hit th’ road to th’ eastern port, shit load of gang trades goin down in th’ veins, drugs, money, info on how to kill the next guy.” He rambled, abandoning his pack to pace the dirty carpeted floor, his peg making muted thumps and squeaks as he moved.
> 
> Roadhog glanced at his boss, noticing how he twitched when he went on about how none of those gang members would be able to take down the “dream team”, his hands shook when they fiddled with each other, empty ramblings leaking from his mouth annoyingly. When they first met, he hadn’t taken a particular liking to Junkrat, but he did have to give him some credit. The kid had survived the god damn apocalypse, even if it drove him towards insanity, survived in a little less that one piece. Over time, he grew rather attached to him, convincing himself that it was something it wasn’t, a shadow of a man he once was.
> 
> Junkrat seemed to not only face death, but sit down and chat over lunch with it. It was eerie, really, for someone who had probably been on the brink of death every day. The way Roadhog had changed when he was living with the poor excuse for a grown adult reminded him more of babysitting a fussy toddler. It made sense in a way. He was constantly telling him not to put things, mostly bombs, in his mouth or, uh, other places. He reminded him to eat something, noticing that he often went days without eating. When junkrat felt like it, he ran around buck naked, just boot and balls.
> 
> From his perspective, he was a free man.
> 
> The poor kid could barely sit still. When they had first met, he could have sworn he was secretly a malfunctioning omnic by the way he twitched and jerked. Not only was he a barely sane pyromaniac, he was a man of chaotic ritual. Almost every night at around dusk, he would pace across the floor of a wasteland or a seedy motel, his thoughts that plagued his mind proactively gushing out of his mouth, whenever he was working on a bomb or some tiny device, he would wring his flesh hand, rolling the joints of his bony fingers between one another, flexing and relaxing. Flex and relax. Or he would pluck out his hair, his arms and legs bare, although that might have been from the radiation.
> 
> The only time he could find peace was when he had passed out from running his mouth and his mind at light speed, his motors eventually burning out. It made Roadhog think, his little mannerisms; someone who was left to grow up all alone, to teach themselves how to live simply by trial and error. Two examples of said obvious error resulted in scarred stumps, leaving everyone he’d approached with an obvious never asked question hanging between them.
> 
> But Roadhog knew not to pry. He’d let the kid come to him, tell him everything he wanted to tell him, and nothing he didn’t. He figured it had been rough for him, not knowing what the world was. If he would ask, he’d tell him about movie theaters and pie eating competitions and being able to sleep in.
> 
> But there were little things he picked up on in the few months he had been teaming up with the talking stick. For example, he was left handed, he didn’t like shrimp and likes to talk about the stars, he remembers one night in particular.
> 
> The night was cold and bright, stars for once not hidden by air pollution from the fuel heavy scrapheaps of towns left. They had stopped for the night, sleep fogging Roadhogs mind and calling him sweetly and softly. He bundled whatever dry brush and foliage he could find to bring at least a little warmth to their night.
> 
> Junkrat was rambling about how boring the desert was, fiddling with the plastic buckles on his bedroll, eyeing the stained and worn fabric, not wanting to wind down for the night. There was so much to do, so many things to think. He had taken out one of his several lighters and flicked it to life, watching the sparks fly and the holes nozzle birth a bright smooth flame. Watching it dance and sing in front of the emptiness as it burned his eyes and warmed his nose. He flipped the metal cap over it, sniffing out with a small tap.
> 
> “I’m tellin ya, mate! Ya could die from takin a shit out ‘ere! If ya don’t die from boredom first that is,” Junkrat poured loudly, rolling out his bedroll and curling up to compensate for the body fat he didn’t have.
> 
> Roadhog returned to the small campsite with only a few long sticks and a small tumbleweed. It wasn’t much, and they didn’t have any extra pouches, fuel or gunpowder to burn. They had stolen a bottle of Russel’s Reserve whiskey, but they mostly used that for sterilization or taking the edge off after a heist.
> 
> Well, shit.
> 
> “Think you can burn these?” Roadhog interrupted, handing him the brush.
> 
> “These’ll burn roight up, mate. Too dry,” Junkrat responded with a frown after inspecting the sticks, and resuming talking about how bland the scenery was.
> 
> Roadhog sighed, tossing the sticks away and trudging over to the bike and grabbing the bottle of whiskey, returning to his spot next to junkrat. He began to remove his harness, his large bedroll laid flat and doing next to nothing from protecting him from the cold hard ground, half listening to junkrats absent babbles, silently reveling in how the cool air hit the skin that was usually hidden under leather straps.
> 
> He unscrewed the cap to the bottle, lifted up his mask just over his lips and took a swig. It had been a while since he had a drink, but the familiar burn he had first noticed from the first time he took a sip danced down his throat and began to warm him from the inside out.
> 
> He crawled under the thin blanket, hoping the chill in his fingers would soon flee, but to no avail. Suddenly, Junkrats tone changed, slowly trailing off.
> 
> “Roadie, when’s ya birthday?” Junkrat asked almost solemnly, turning toward where he hoped roadhog was lying and grabbed the bottle.
> 
> “May 28th.” Roadhog grunted. Which could be tomorrow or 5 months from now. The omnium explosion had wiped out all weather patterns, seasons and years becoming one long string of events.
> 
> “Yer a Gemini! Jus like me!” He announced, eyes scanning the star-littered sky for the small familiar cluster. Once he had spotted them, he traced them with his finger up to the sky.
> 
> “Up there, those goofy lookin’ stars, ‘at’s Gemini! The top one to th’ right is uh, Castor. Th’ one next to it, Pollux, big bright meaty fucker. Stealin’ alla Castors spotlight,” Junkrat tiredly gushed, interrupting his thoughts to twist off the cap and took a sip of the whiskey, coughing as the liquid seared his esophagus.
> 
> “Jesus, mate. Forgot how strong that shit is,” He gasped, trying to rid the burn in his throat, earning a chuckle from roadhog.
> 
> He felt a little looser, a little more fogged and a little warmer as he nursed the bottle, his thoughts soon becoming cotton filled, fuzzy and confusing.
> 
> “Roadie,” Junkrat stated, the clouds soon covering the starts and moon, leaving complete darkness to surround them, not caring if his bodyguard had actually fallen asleep or not.
> 
> “Listen, now, I’m not sayin’ I’m particularly scared of the dark but,” Junkrat reasoned, “it’s not what’s in th dark either. You can kill that with a few bombs. Aces. Safe n sound. Right? It’s what the dark does to ya. It shuts ya out, bastardizes ya to fuck all nowhere, might as well be on th’ fuckin statue of freedom.”
> 
> The Statue of Liberty, roadhog corrected him silently, pretending to be asleep, but this time actually listening to his tipsy ramblings.
> 
> “It closes in on ya, only leaving ya with your thoughts. And you know what thoughts go off in th’ dark? Th’ worst ones. Th’ ones where th’ entire world is against you, behind your back, slowly creeping toward you until it scares the actual shit out of you. No better than throwin yourself to the dogs. It fucks with you. It fucks with you in ways ya wouldn’t even fucking imagine. At’s the only thing ya can’t kill with some steel balls and bombs. Fuckin’ shame, it is. ”
> 
> Roadhog heard something in the man he hadn’t before. Sadness? Despair? Was he actually human?
> 
> “It shows you what you don’t want to see. It shows you you. It grabs your face and pries your eyes open. I widdles ya down to your gut and your knee jerk reaction to piss yerself. Soon enough you’re just another fuck floppin around on this bitch of an earth, sending bullets and bombs every which way hoping to pry yourself from the god forsaken nightmare. But there ain’t no running from it because you can’t run from you. I’ve tried.”
> 
> Jamison took a heavy swig from the slowly emptying bottle and capped it off. He rolled the bottle back over to roadhog, hearing the small crunches under the glass as it rolled across the scarred earth.
> 
> Roadhog reached over and grabbed the bottle, alerting Junkrat that he was, indeed, still awake and heard every bit of his rant. The silence broke as junkrat began to tiredly whistle a familiar tune. The tune hit him like a fuck ton of bricks. He hadn’t heard it since he’d seen Bonnibel.
> 
> “Whered you learn that?”
> 
> “What, how to whistle? It’s easy really, all you-“
> 
> “The tune. Somethin’ bout a sun?”
> 
> Junkrats stomach flipped. He paused for a second, thinking his next words through a million times over.
> 
> “My mum used to sing it to me as a little chitlin. She’d sing it when I would get upset and throw tantrums ‘n stuff. ‘Was four. Just an ankle biter at that point, still suckin my thumb and goin to kinder. An one night,” Junkrat paused, voice wavering ”Just fuckin up and leaves. No warning, no nothing. All her shit? Gone!” He was laughing hysterically, a deep genuinely uncomfortable laugh with a thin veil of tears lining it.
> 
> Roadhog sat up, trying to locate Junkrats wiry frame in the darkness, hoping his eyes had adjusted well enough. He heard a sniff, trying to decipher if it was from the cold or if he was crying. Then another, definitely crying.
> 
> “I-I don’t understand Roadie. I want to understand! Was I that bad of a kid?!” Jamison futiously asked.
> 
> Those last words made him realize something. The kid had years of built up anxiety. He remembered during his studies when he was younger, the young mind was extremely impressionable and like figurative putty. He figured that rat had probably assumed theworst and convinced himself that it was his fault. Most likely it wasn’t, but he didn’t know his mother, she might have been a shit person. Roadhog felt unbelievably awkward in the presence of anybody crying, so he tried to help by holding his arms out, hoping that he wouldn’t actually hug him. Too late for that.
> 
> Too late for him to feel something in his chest painfully swell.
> 
> Junkrat crawled up into Roadhogs arms, surprisingly comforting. His whole body shook with sobs and sharp intakes. As Roadhog listened to his loud sobs, he had noticed that this was Jamison. Just a scared insecure kid who wanted answers to why he had such a shit life. Jamison couldn’t really remember the last time he had cried. You definitely had to nut up or shut up in the wasteland. Emotions didn’t exist. It was either dead or alive.
> 
> But now, now he had someone. He had a someone who could protect him, who could fix his mistakes and hopefully stick with him until the whole treasure deal and running from god knows who was over.
> 
> Jamison pulled back and sniff sled, wiping his eyes and runny nose on his dirtied fingerless glove, then wiping it on his shorts. Ew. He was proud, in a sense. He knew what it was like to keep that kinda shit buried down. He swore he’d forget about it, never speak a word of it to anyone. Not that he had anyone to speak it to. But now, Jamison had showed him him. He showed him his open wounds and let himself be vulnerable, which was something he knew that junkrat was not fond of. He was always the bigger and better guy, the one who didn’t let his 3 (if you add 1/2 leg and 1/2 arm I guess it’s an entire limb?) limbs slow him down, in face, it was the funniest thing he’d ever done. Blown ‘em right off. Bam. One and done.
> 
> But this, here and now, it changed something in him. It stayed with him when he fell asleep and woke up. That same feeling in his stomach? Heart? That feeling changed when Jamison spoke the next morning, voice scratching and audibly sore.
> 
> The sky was slowly lightening, strawberry pink clouds drifted sleepily in the warming air. They had survived the cold, but just barely. Junkrat was audibly shivering in his sleep. Roadhog was usually up first, so he draped his bedroll over the smaller man, hoping that his leftover body heat would help in any way shape or form.
> 
> He gathered his things and loaded into the pack of the hog, letting Jamison sleep as long as possible. He sat and ate his breakfast of canned beans and dirty water from the far lake, watching the sun rise and the earth warm.
> 
> “Ere, got a picture of the creator of this hot box a rocks.” Junkrat said as he dug through his satchel and pulled out an old slightly wrinkled photograph and handed it to roadhog.
> 
> The picture showed a young woman with a small child, that looked exactly like a smaller Jamie. Same furry eyes, bushy eyebrows and unkempt blonde curls.
> 
> When he observed the woman, his blood ran cold. He hadn’t seen her since his youth. There was no way it couldn’t be her. It was her.
> 
> It was her.
> 
> It was Emily Fawkes, the leader of the Australian Liberation Front.


End file.
